


In Nebraska

by BipolarMolar



Category: Dexter (TV)
Genre: Agnostic Character, Canonical Character Death, Hallucinations, Hand Jobs, Implied Character Death, Incest, M/M, Male Slash, Masturbation, Religion, Serial Killers, Sibling Incest, Slash, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-28
Updated: 2012-08-28
Packaged: 2017-11-13 02:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/498220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BipolarMolar/pseuds/BipolarMolar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Season Six, episode Nebraska. If you’re unfamiliar with that episode, Dexter goes on a road trip to Nebraska to confront a killer, accompanied by the hallucination of his dead brother Brian, who attempts to make him stray off The Code Of Harry. Slash.</p>
<p>Unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine. Sorry, just had to finally write some Dexter, please be kind, I’m a first-time writer for this fandom!. *(hides)*</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Nebraska

How could a dead man have a Dark Passenger? After all, a Dark Passenger was not a living thing; it was a voice in the head, a shadow in the eyes. A whisper tht became a roar. A Dark Passenger need a vessel, someone who understood the Need as well as it did, felt the pull of the Moon, saw their reflection in a knife. The very idea of a dead man with a dark passenger was laughable.

 

But somehow, Dexter didn’t feel like laughing. Seeing Brian Moser, Big Brother Biney taking cautious steps at his side, making no impressions on the dusty ground but still squinting up at the sun, left Dexter with endless questions. He had long ago resigned himself to seeing Harry, in his lab at work, or even at home, to offer his advice, give support. Be the Harry Dexter had known. Or thought he’d known. Of course, no psychiatrist would say that seeing hallucinations of your dead foster father was the product of a healthy mind. So who knew what they’d say if he told them about the lives he’d taken?  But now, here he was, Breathless Brian, a sadistic vision, dark curls and black hoodie. He showed no sign of leaving.

 

As Dexter began his nightly routine, the meticulous tasks of brushing, flossing, mouthwash, Brian huffed and sighed, inspecting his nails languidly.

“You could go, you know,” Dexter saw it fit to remind him. “Leave me to deal with Jonah myself.”

 

This caused Brian to laugh wildly, his Dark Passenger flaring briefly in his eyes with amusement. “And miss the fun? No no no. This is our first kill together, little Brother. Satan himself couldn’t make me miss it.”

 

Brian’s words were met with silence as Dexter lingered over them, seeing the sentence with fresh eyes. Brother Sam, his certainty in religion-it confused him. Whenever he heard people speak of religion, they were always so eager to remind him of God, a perfect being, superior to humanity and infinitely forgiving. But somehow they always managed to refrain from savouring this detail: You can’t have God without the Devil.

 

“Have you ever questioned your beliefs?” Dexter said absently, slipping in between the sheets. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the bed tip under Brain’s weight, the older man taking a seat on the threadbare covers as he hummed thoughtfully before answering.

“Dexter... I used to dismember hookers and leave them in hockey rinks for you to find. Zealots aside, you need to have a high opinion of yourself in order to take lives,” he gave a slim smile. “A God Complex, I think they call it.”

Dexter closed his eyes, not attempting to will away his murdered brother. His sleep was always dreamless, not plagued by worry and fear. The advantage of being a serial killer was that you were usually the most dangerous thing you encountered. Alligators aside, of course.

“Dexter…” And his mind knew that this wasn’t real, the muscle memory of stabbing Brian, seeing the blossoming crimson flood out form his wound as his cold eyes dimmed, still clear in his brain. He had seen Brian die, ah killed him and yet, here he was, untouchable…but realistic. Their Dark passengers, intangible and invisible to anyone else, were sending out flickering glances, measuring up. A dry chuckle from his invisible guest dragged itself along his Lizard Brian, the Passenger never spoke but if it did, it would be saying _something different. Something new._

 

With one hand, he turned on the light, the faint click indecisive. Brian was still sitting there, his familiar face inscrutable. “I missed you.” he said.

“Since I turned on the light?” Dexter asked him, frowning slightly. He didn’t know why he was entertaining his own hallucination, it made for a very strange metaphor but an instinct deep inside him, something more jagged and broken than the sleek, silent Passenger was howling in his head, demanding something, he just wasn’t sure what.

“I need something, Brian.” He murmured, his passenger tapping curiously at the howling thing in his brain. “Something’s wrong. Tense.”

Brian’s eyes narrowed, his blade-like smile not terribly reassuring. “It’s been a while since Lumen, Dexter. Yes, I know about her. I’m your thoughts, your- evil incarnate, if you like. I know what you know. And what you’re afflicted with, my dear Brother, is arousal.”

So that’s what that was. As Brian mentioned it, he could feel a tightening in his stomach, a heat spreading down his skin.

“I don’t understand.” he muttered, parting the sheet to look down at himself. Brian just shook his head, a smirk pulling at his lips. “I’ve never needed this before- I always could- with Rita, Lila, Lumen, but I never had to-”

“Touch it,” Brian cut across him. “It makes it better.”

So he did. All the while feeling Brian’s heavy gaze on him, he tentatively stroked a hand down his flesh, with the precision he would normally employ when-

“Almost as fun as butchering a human being, isn’t it/” Brian said with a cat-like smile, shifting his weight on the bed. Dexter gave a grunt in response, feeling his flesh harden at his actions, at Brian’s words. Perhaps if his mother hadn’t died, making him the ice-minded individual that he was, he would have felt disgust and shame at the realisation that here he was, in a dinghy, run-down motel, touching himself in the way that normal people did, people who didn’t feel the need to stab and kill, to spray that awful red blood across the wall. And here he was, touching himself whilst thinking of his own brother. His own _dead_ brother. A man who had, yes, died at Dexter’s own dextrous hand, but taken no pleasure in doing so. It felt good.

 

Not as strong as the feelings of killing, of letting himself walk into the warm Miami night and embrace it, take a body and…let loose. But close. A gasp escaped his lips, and the chuckle that followed it could have been from dear Brian’s lips or the Dark Passenger, wiping its nonexistent forehead with a clawed hand. It didn’t matter. He used both hands, his fingers smearing the pre-come welling up from the slit, stroking the length until his hips bucked involuntarily, and he threw out a curse. His eyes flew open at that, meeting Brian’s hungry gaze. Seeing the raw strength lurking in dilated pupils, Dexter swallowed, swept up in Brian’s dark eyes.

“God, you look…” Brian smiled, a little sadly. “What I’d give…but you had to go and kill me…”

 

To his surprise, his eyes watered. “I had to, Brian. The code-”

“Fuck the code!” Brian shouted, and the anger that coloured his face almost fooled Dexter that this was real. “We’re _brothers_ ; we’re supposed to do _everything_ together. So you, Dexter Moser, continue touching yourself and _think of me_!”

 

He complied, stroking and teasing  himself with added enthusiasm, looking up into Brian’s empty gaze. He imagined kissing those plump, blood-filled lips, forcing them down to kiss his cock, then part. Brian would take him into his mouth, so eager to please his little brother, an inquisitive tongue licking along the length of his dick, tasting him with the same zest that he approached draining bodies of blood. That horrible blood, messy, so bright, was filling his cock now, engorged on it as his orgasm began to build. His eyes locked with Brian’s, the deep brown beckoning him in so that their Passengers  snarled and smirked at each other, he’d never felt to aware of another life pulsing next to his, but that wasn’t right because Brian was dead, he’d killed him and-

“Brian!” He stuttered out a cry, as he came, semen spilling onto his palms and _why did humans have to produce so much fluid?_ He rode out the wave of euphoria, as endorphins flooded his system, making him sag on the covers. A dull thumping could be heard- probably the charming motel owner banging the ceiling with a broom to tell him to be quiet. Dexter looked around for his friendly hallucination but Brian had gone. So he lay there, soaked to the skin with sweat and semen, wondering what on earth had just happened.


End file.
